


A Brief Collection of Short Stories About Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson, Lovers and Friends

by snugglewithlou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Louis, Canon Compliant, Established Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Fluff, Harry Styles Loves Louis Tomlinson, I Love You, Kissing, Louis Tomlinson Loves Harry Styles, M/M, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Smut, Top Harry, Top!Harry, a little bit of, a lot of - Freeform, bottom!Louis, non-au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:14:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24482611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snugglewithlou/pseuds/snugglewithlou
Summary: Based on the non-AU fic "We'll Be The Fine Line" (read here !!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/21992308/chapters/52480030), these are a collection of one-shots that are based on the story. Some aren't mentioned at all in the original fic and others are alluded to. Thank you so much for reading! H&L always.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

Louis had been ignoring Harry almost all day. But in the playful, Louis way. In the way that when Harry glanced at him from across the room, where Louis had sat purposefully as to not sit next to him, Louis was already looking at him, both nervousness and flirtation all over his face.

It was their first time in Barcelona as a band, and him and Louis were official. Or so Harry thought. Louis had called him his boyfriend just yesterday. So why was he being so cold now? Was he going to dance on Harry the way he did the night before, in Rome, again tonight? Was this what having a boyfriend was always like?

Harry didn’t know. He knew very little about being a boyfriend, or having a boyfriend, but he did know that he really liked Louis, and he thought Louis liked him a lot, or at least it felt like Louis liked him a lot, and he was led to believe this by the way Louis kissed him, and looked at him, and his enthusiasm during their nighttime activities, which had just become all the better since him and Louis got back from their trip to New York, where they discovered just the right angle, if you know what Harry means.

But today, Louis was acting like he didn’t even know Harry. Harry was determined to make that stop.

But first they had to do a soundcheck at the arena, which was out of the ordinary, because they weren’t performing until the next day, and because of this out of the ordinary measure, Louis seemed in a bad mood. 

After getting the cold shoulder throughout a pain-staking-ly long sound check, as Harry made his way to the van that had just arrived to drive them back to their hotel, he felt an arm around his shoulder.

“Hey,” Zayn smiled, holding Harry’s shoulder loosely, “what are you and Louis doing tonight?”

“Um,” Harry started, “I don’t know about Louis, since I think he’s really mad at me, for some reason, I don’t know. Do you know why he’s mad at me?”

Zayn looked at Harry briefly and then forward, as they neared the back stage door, “I don’t know about any of that, but, me and Niall are going clubbing tonight, and you two should come. I guess this means I have to invite Louis separately.”

Zayn was promptly not by Harry’s side, and Harry left the back stage door by himself, quickly getting ushered into a van. He sat there, waiting for the rest of the boys to arrive, quietly hoping Louis would get in first.

And that wish was heard and granted when the van door opened, and Louis crawled in. By the time he saw Harry, the door was being shut behind him.

“Hi,” Harry said, watching Louis. 

Louis sat, looking at Harry for the first time, “I didn’t know you were already in here.”

“What is going on?” Harry asked, “Are you mad at me?”

Louis shook his head, “Of course I’m not mad at you.”

“Then why have you been ignoring me all day?” Harry asked, watching Louis closely.

“I haven’t been.”

“Louis.”

“I haven’t.”

“Usually we’re like, all over each other during sound checks,” Harry said.

“No we’re not,” Louis rolled his eyes, not looking at Louis.

Harry was beginning to feel desperate. Was he just crazy? “In Rome, you almost gave me a hickey during sound check. Like, people were watching.”

Louis looked at him, his face loosening, and then, after a long moment of silence, “I’m sorry. I was ignoring you.”

“Why?” Harry asked, looking at him confusedly.

Louis shrugged, “I don’t know. I think I just got like, insecure.”

“Why?” Harry asked, not wanting Louis to ever feel insecure about anything, much less Harry.

Louis looked away from him, “I don’t know, just, sometimes I feel like, you’re more… attractive than me.”

“What?” Harry asked, voice rising in pitch, leaning in towards Louis. “No.”

“It’s stupid,” Louis sighed, glancing at Harry.

“I’m not more attractive than you,” Harry told Louis, trying to get eye contact. He couldn’t get Louis’ eyes.

“Maybe you are,” Louis said quietly.

“Lou,” Harry said, “come on.”

“I think you’re more attractive than me.”

“I’m not.”

“You could have anyone.”

“What are you talking about, Louis?” Harry asked, starting to feel frustrated.

“I don’t know,” Louis said, looking at Harry, “I’m just not feeling great about myself today.”

Harry’s shoulders loosened at Louis’ words, and the sadness he could feel behind them, “Louis.”

Louis looked away, “It’s ok, Harry, you don’t—”

The van door swung open, Zayn, Niall, and Liam all piling in. With their presence, Louis’ composure changed dramatically, he straightened up, put on a smile, and greeted the rest of the boys. Harry watched Louis from his seat in the back corner of the van, studying his smile, seeing how believable it felt.

The way Louis could just compose himself, seem alright, kind of scared Harry. He didn’t want Louis to be that good at pretending. He didn’t want Louis to be able to carry all of that, without showing it on his face.

Once at the hotel, and once they got to their own rooms, and Louis and Harry were alone again, Harry closed the hotel door behind them and followed Louis in, “Hey, I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t worry about me, Harry,” Louis smiled at Harry, “I’m fine. I promise.”

Harry watched as Louis put down his backpack and went to the window, looking out at the building across from them.

“Louis,” Harry said, walking towards him, “I can’t help but worry.”

Louis said nothing, but let Harry wrap his arms around his crossed arms, resting his chin on his shoulder.

Louis exhaled deeply, relaxing in Harry’s arms, leaning his head against Harry’s. Harry was comforted by Louis’ warm reception of his touch, the touch which was so sorely missed, even after just a day.

“I don’t want you to be insecure,” Harry whispered, eyes closed.

“I didn’t mean to make you worry,” Louis responded, just as quietly. “I was just being, dramatic, I guess.”

“It’s ok if you feel that way,” Harry told him, “I just want you to know that I think you’re great.”

Louis laughed breathily, dropping his head.

“And sexy,” Harry continued, “and cute, and perfect.”

“Ok, Harold,” Louis sighed, leaning closer into Harry’s face, “I get it.”

“Please just tell me things,” Harry continued, kissing Louis’ cheek gently, “and be honest. You don’t have to fake with me.”

“I know,” Louis said, but Harry felt Louis was still holding something, and he wasn’t just ‘being dramatic,’ and he was hurting. But he didn’t know how else to get to him.

“I love you,” Harry whispered, squeezing Louis.

“I love you,” Louis responded, and Harry kissed him on his lips, slowly and chastely.

“Are we going clubbing tonight?” Louis asked, wiping his lips, looking back out the window.

“I’m down if you are,” Harry said, kissing Louis once more on the cheek and then releasing him from his grasp.

“I think we should,” Louis said, turning around to watch Harry as he opened his suitcase on his bed, “it could be fun.”

“Are you gonna dance on me again?” Harry asked, smiling cheekily at Louis.

“God, I was wasted,” Louis sighed, a hint of redness appearing in his cheeks.

“I didn’t mind,” Harry winked at him, and Louis sighed.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Just hours later, Louis was puling Harry by the hand through the nightclub, both of them stumbling helplessly, towards the bar. Once there, Louis ordered both of them two vodka shots (each!), to which Harry stuck out his tongue.

“I’m already so drunk,” he slurred, grabbing Louis’ shoulders.

“Me too,” Louis told him, practically having to shout to be heard over the music, “but let’s get drunker!”

With the four shots before them, both took one in their hand, and keeping eye contact, tilted their heads back and downed them. Harry felt the alcohol gathering in the bottom of his stomach, and he didn’t want to take another shot, but there was Louis, offering it, and he couldn’t say no to Louis. It was impossible.

The next shot down, they returned to the dance floor, surrounded by other sweaty bodies, but lost in the anonymity of it all. They were just other people on the dance floor, no one was concerned with their status or fame, and they could be together.

Face to face, bodies pressed against each other, they danced, and got drunk, and both of them felt young, and together, and maybe it was the alcohol, or the music, or the anonymity, but it was the freest Harry had felt in a little while.

Louis was with him, so close to him, smiling, happy. Harry wrapped his arms around Louis’ waist, not concerned with how sweaty and hot they both were, and just danced with him.

“I think we should go back to the hotel,” Louis said into Harry’s ear, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Harry nodded, and then slurred his words, “I think we should.”

Once back in their hotel room, not a light was turned on, but the blinds kept open, light from the city illuminating their bedroom.

“Holy shit,” Harry slurred.

“What?” Louis asked, leading Harry by the hand into their shared room.

“I’m just now seeing the jeans you’re wearing,” Harry told Louis, not able to take his eyes away from his bum.

“You’re just noticing now?” Louis said, pronouncing ‘noticing’ as ‘nocicing,’ due to the nearly criminal amounts of alcohol in his bloodstream.

“Holy shit,” Harry repeated, smiling at Louis’ backside, nearly smitten.

“You pervert,” Louis said, disappearing into a dark corner of the room.

Harry sat down on the hotel bed, searching for Louis’ figure, “Where are you?”

“I’m trying to take off my jeans,” Louis said, stepping into the light, trying drunkenly at his belt.

“Forget about it,” Harry told him, reaching for him, almost grabbing him by the waist.

“I don’t want to fall asleep with my jeans on,” Louis protested, avoiding Harry’s reach.

“You must be dense,” Harry sighed.

“I’m not fucking dense,” Louis protested, alcohol fueling the feigned rage behind his response.

“You must be dense,” Harry repeated, messing up considerably the pronunciation of ‘dense,’ “because I’m offering to take off those jeans for you.”

“It’s harder than it looks,” Louis replied, somehow tripping on his own feet, as he swayed drunkenly by the end of the bed.

“I’m going to rip those pants off your nice little ass,” Harry said, almost darkly, but with a signature goofy smile on his face, reaching again.

That time he found Louis, grabbing the bottom hem of his t-shirt and pulling him close.

“Ahh!” Louis exclaimed jokingly, falling into Harry’s lap, the world spinning around him, “what is it with us and threatening to rip clothes off?”

But Harry didn’t answer, as he was too busy kissing Louis’ neck, with no great deal of accuracy, sloppily leaving marks which would undoubtedly show in the morning. And that question was the last real thing Louis said all night, as Harry did get the pants off him, and touched nearly every square inch of his man’s body.


	2. Chapter 2

Louis was in the mood. He hoped Harry was, too.

He had hardly seen Harry all day. He had been out with Eleanor shopping on Oxford Street in the morning, and when he got home, Harry sent him a text saying he was going to be at the studio. When Harry got home, about an hour after Louis had eaten dinner, he grabbed a piece of toast and headed upstairs to read.

Writing and recording the new album had really given them time to be at home, and while time in London was usually marked by a lot of sleeping in and “rambunctious sex” (Louis’ own words), this was their first time home that Louis and Eleanor had to make such regular appearances, and it was wearing on Harry.

He missed waking up before Louis, and making breakfast for him, and instead just sat at the table by the window, watching people down on the street below, trying to distract himself from the thought of Louis and Eleanor. Louis with someone else. Louis.

So, no such “rambunctious sex” had occurred in the week they’d been home, and Louis wanted to change that. He was ready for Harry to do whatever he wanted to him, which, usually, was just to be very gentle and patient and quiet, but, if you caught him at the right moment, and if Louis did all the right things (a strip tease, whispering), Harry could be a little bit more dominant. Little bit is the key phrase there, however. No amount of stripping or whispering could make Harry not do things like ask, in the middle of giving Louis a hickey, if it hurt.

“That’s kinda the point, love,” Louis would always say, smiling at his boyfriend.

On his way to their bedroom, Louis stopped in the bathroom, brushed his teeth, straightened his fringe, and washed his face. Who knew if he would want to get up to do that after activities commenced.

Louis knocked lightly on their bedroom door, which was cracked open, and then entered. Harry was sat up on the bed, on his phone.

“Reading my ass,” Louis smiled, standing by the door.

Harry put down his phone and smiled back at Louis, “You caught me.”

Louis bit his bottom lip, as he knew Harry liked, still lingering by the doorway, “I missed you today.”

Harry watched Louis, “I missed you, too.”

Maybe it was that Louis looked especially desirable that night, or maybe it was the fact that they hadn’t sex in a little while, or maybe it was Harry’s underlying anger towards Louis, his feelings about him and Eleanor, that made Harry get off the bed and go to Louis, to pick him up quickly, and then toss him on the bed.

Nothing too rough at all—Louis smiled as Harry did it, excited, preparing himself for what he foresaw as a vigorous and long night. Louis was pleasantly aroused, more quickly than usual, but Harry’s sudden dominance was nothing short of sexy to him.

Soon Harry was on him, kissing down his neck and then pulling off his shirt. He seemed focused, dedicated, and Louis leaned his head back and closed his eyes, ready to have some hickeys the next day.

After Harry, without his usual hesitation, sucked a few hickeys onto Louis’ neck, he found Louis’ face in one of his hands, and kissed him, as intensely and passionately as he had in a while.

Louis felt one of Harry’s hand press over his crotch, providing much-needed pressure. Louis pressed forward into his hand, extending his hips, as Harry applied more pressure, lips still pressed to Louis’.

Taking his lips off Louis’ and relieving the pressure on his jeans for a moment, Harry unbuttoned Louis’ jeans and zipped them down, making room for his hand in his boxers. Harry took Louis in his hand, and began to jerk him off, quickly, almost roughly, no longer looking at Louis’ face but down at his member.

It was then Louis felt, knew, something was off, as suddenly none of this felt normal, like it usually felt with Harry, and he suddenly became very conscious of his bare body and Harry’s clothed one, Harry’s hand in his pants, almost void of any tenderness.

Despite his emotional reaction, which was making him feel uncertain and self-conscious and horribly vulnerable, Harry had complete control over his physical one, and Louis came in his pants, breath quickening and heart beating heavily.

But before he could say anything, or try to gather his thoughts, or even try to get a piece of clothing off Harry, Harry looked him in the eyes, “Can Eleanor do that?”

Louis watched Harry, shocked he would say something like that.

“What did you just say?” Louis questioned, Harry still on top of him, hand in his pants.

Harry looked surprised at his words, as if he was falling out of a trance. He said nothing.

“Get your hand out of my pants,” Louis said quietly but firmly, sitting up, pushing Harry’s chest gently away from him.

“Louis, I--,” Harry began, desperately, sitting on the bed as Louis zipped up his pants and got off the bed. He watched as Louis avoided his eyes, and left the room.

“Louis,” Harry called after him, watching the empty doorframe, hoping Louis would come back.

Louis walked down the hallway, towards a bathroom, humiliation beginning to overwhelm him. Why would Harry say that? Did Louis do something wrong? 

Louis didn’t know the answer to either question he asked himself, but he closed the hallway bathroom door behind him and took of his clothes, hating the feeling of his dirty boxers, and avoided glancing at himself in the mirror. 

As he stood under the hot water, he began to try to breathe deeply, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Harry’s words and face and roughness, and instead of crying, as he normally would, he felt his heart harden in a way, and he didn’t cry.

After a few minutes, after feeling more in control of his breathing, he turned off the water and grabbed a towel, wrapping and securing it around his waist. When he opened the bathroom door, Harry was sitting, slumped against the opposite wall, looking up at him.

The two looked at each other for a long moment, Louis trying to display no emotion despite Harry’s look of helplessness. 

“I’m so sorry,” Harry said, “I don’t know why I said that.”

Louis nodded, “I know.”

Harry looked at Louis desperately, “I don’t want to be like that, or treat you like that, and I feel so, terrible.”

Louis nodded, and just looked at Harry. He didn’t feel mad, he just couldn’t stop feeling what unspecial sex felt like with him. He would rather feel Harry holding him.

He extended a hand to Harry and helped him up. Harry took Louis in his arms, holding his head and shoulders tightly and lovingly as he could. He never wanted to hurt Louis, he was just upset, and jealous, and let that get the better of him. He had violated Louis, and he knew that.

“I love you so much,” Harry whispered, kissing the side of Louis’ head.

Louis nodded, and Harry knew he loved him too. It was just hard to say then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!!! original fic is here https://archiveofourown.org/works/21992308/chapters/52480030. xoxo


	3. Chapter 3

Harry woke up at 10 am, aching from the plane ride the day before. He had gotten in at 8 pm, driven home to his and Louis’ place in London, and been greeted by a sleeping Louis, sprawled across the couch, fully clothed, breath reeking of alcohol.

He woke Louis up, helped him to the bathroom, where he threw up twice, and then into bed. When he woke up the next morning, Louis was sleeping on the other side of the bed, his back facing Harry. He wasn’t even awake yet, but Harry sensed a fight brewing.

It was only six days ago that Louis found out about Harry going solo, and almost immediately after, Harry had to leave to Los Angeles to begin meetings and pre-production for his album. Harry left at the worst possible time—Louis and him were already fighting drunkenly nearly every night, and the one good one they had was the same night Louis discovered Harry’s career plans.

Harry was only supposed to be in LA for four days, but dreading returning to the tension that was waiting for him in London, extended his stay two days.

As Harry made his way downstairs, the house unfolded before him in disarray. Louis hadn’t washed a single glass, picked up a single piece of laundry, or taken out the trash. In the same breath that it made Harry’s heart hurt, it pissed him off. Louis is a big boy. He can take care of himself.

Harry took the trash outside, filled the kitchen sink with glasses that smelled like scotch (thinking to himself—Louis can wash these), and started a load of laundry. His short stint as Louis’ maid made him angry, and while he was planning on letting Louis sleep in, he promptly changed his mind, grabbed a pair of pants Louis left in the downstair’s bathroom, and opened their bedroom door loudly.

“Louis.”

No movement from the heap of sheets.

“Louis.”

Harry threw the dirty pants at the heap of sheets, and there was little love in Harry’s voice.

Louis shifted, “What?”

“The house looks like shit,” Harry said, pointedly and harshly, watching Louis with his lips pursed.

“I’ll take care of it,” Louis told him both groggily and dismissively, not turning to look at him.

“I already did,” Harry told Louis.

“Good for you,” Louis said, and then pulled the sheets over his head.

“I don’t get a thank you?” Harry asked, frustration rising in him.

“You also live here,” Louis began, sleep still in his voice, “so it’s in your best interest to clean the house. You don’t get a thank you for cleaning the place you live.”

Harry sighed, shaking his head, “I can assure you I didn’t leave your dirty underwear on a dining table chair. How does your underwear even end up there, Louis? It’s the fucking dining room, not a laund—”

Louis sat up, facing Harry for the first time, “This is rich. This is rich.”

“Forgive me for having standards concerning where I live,” Harry said, becoming angrier.

“You hardly live here,” Louis told him bitterly and coldly.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Louis said, lying back down.

“So if I leave for six days I lose my residence?” Harry questioned, and then laughed humorlessly. “That makes a lot of sense, Louis. Is that why you also felt comfortable trashing the place?”

“You’re being dramatic,” Louis dismissed him.

“How much did you drink?” Harry asked, “You used every glass we had, and didn’t clean a fuc—”

“Oh that’s rich, Harold,” Louis laughed, much like Harry, and bit back, “you asking me how much I drink.”

“I didn’t drink once in LA.”

“Bullshit,” Louis shook his head, getting out of bed and heading towards the bathroom.

“I didn’t,” Harry said, following him at a distance.

“Ok, Harry,” Louis nodded, wetting his toothbrush, “you know, even if you’re not lying, that’s real rich, for you to spend every waking fucking moment here with me drunk, and then, as soon as I’m gone, decide sobriety is for you.”

“God forbid that every once in a while I need to give myself a break,” Harry threw his hands up.

Louis eyed Harry, in a way that conveyed anger and hurt and frustration and irritation and anger, and began to brush his teeth.

Harry waited, watching him still from the doorway.

Louis finished brushing, and looked at Harry, “Don’t linger, I have nothing else to say to you.”

Harry shook his head, gesturing defeatedly with his hands, “So are we just supposed to go and eat breakfast together after this discussion? This feels far from over.”

“You just told me you needed to give yourself a break,” Louis told Harry, standing in the bathroom, facing him.

Harry was confused. “Yeah, I did, so? I—”

“So why did you come home?” Louis asked, watching him.

“What?”

“If you needed a break why did you come home?”

“I can not drink here, I don—”

“I’m not talking about fucking drinking, I’m talking about me,” Louis said.

It hit Harry with a great deal of force, the same amount of force Louis said it with, intended it with, felt it with.

“I never said a needed a break from you,” Harry said, not as gentle as he intended.

“I think you did.”

“It’s not what I meant.”

“Maybe it is,” Louis shrugged, defenses clearly up.

“You’re not a mind reader, Louis,” Harry reminded him, but his words had sharp corners.

Louis stared at Harry for a moment, his eyes hard but glassy. He shook his head minutely, rolled his eyes minutely, and then turned and went towards the shower.

Harry sighed as he watched him, as irritated as he had ever been, “What, Louis? Are we children? Can you not express yourself using words? Can you only roll your eyes and walk away from me?”

Louis looked at him as he leaned into the shower and turned the faucet, “Yeah, that feels about what I’m capable of right now.”

Harry felt like he had lost sight of what he had woken Louis up for in the first place. “Ok, just… all I wanted to say is that when I’m gone, try to take better care of the house, ok?”

Louis looked at Harry, looked inside and through Harry, brokenly, with frustration and anger in his eyes, and said nothing.

“What?” Harry practically begged, “use words, Louis.”

“If roles were reversed, and I came home after being gone on a trip you didn’t know was happening until the day before, after I dropped a bombshell on you, and the house was in this state and you were in my state, I would have let you sleep in, cleaned up quietly, put on a cup, and whenever you did wake up, ask if you were ok and needed a cuddle,” Louis said, steadily, “not thrown dirty pants at you and told you to act like an adult. Fuck off.”

Harry opened his mouth but decided against speaking. Louis’ words hit him, and he realized that the way he started this conversation, started Louis’ day, left little room for the end of the conversation to look much different from the way it did. He had messed up.

“And then,” Louis wasn’t done, “you effectively said you needed a break from me, after you were gone six fucking days?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry defended himself.

“Are you sure?” Louis said, “because I looked at your calendar, Harry, and Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday were jam packed with meetings, but not Saturday and Sunday. Not many people have meetings on Saturdays and Sundays.”

Harry felt caught.

Louis nodded, “Yeah, I think it was a break from me. You call me the child, but then hide away in LA for two days instead of communicating with me.”

As if end-marking his sentence, Louis tested the water temperature of the shower.

“I didn’t need a break from you, Louis,” Harry told him, desperation creeping in his voice.

Louis said nothing.

“We’ve been fighting a lot more, recently, but this is still my home, and I still love—”

“Save it, Harry.”

Harry inhaled deeply and searched the room with his eyes, wishing he could know better what to say, “I didn’t need a break from you, I just needed a break from fighting with you.”

Louis nodded, still not looking at Harry.

“Louis,” Harry said, “I mean it, this is my home, and you are my person, and I love you so much.”

Louis looked at Harry, “I think there’s a lot we have to unpack here, because I would rather be home fighting with you than somewhere else without you.”

Harry felt the words sear him, a very deep, inside part of him. 

“So I’m here, sitting like an idiot all of Saturday and Sunday, wishing you were home, while you were what?” Louis asked. “Partying? Having fun with other people? And I want you to see your LA people, they’re my friends too, but you couldn’t have picked a shittier time.”

“I didn’t see anyone,” Harry told him, “I really just spent time at the house alone.”

Louis laughed, weakly and humorlessly, “That’s even worse.”

“Louis, I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I’m sorry if I did,” Harry began, “but I think both of us are tired, and emotions are running high—”

“Save it, Harry,” Louis said coldly, “don’t brush this off. There’s something wrong and different about us, and it’s been going on.”

Harry felt at a loss, and stood with Louis there, in that silence, for a while.

Finally, Harry spoke, “What’s different? What happened?”

Louis looked down, and then at Harry, “I don’t think you love me anymore.”

“Don’t say that,” Harry said, his voice becoming stern and serious, “I’ve never loved anyone more th—”

“Harry,” Louis said, “there’s something different, and off. We used to sleep in a twin bed together on a tour bus full of people, and if we couldn’t we moped around the whole day, and now we can go days, weeks, without seeing each other. I still miss you. Do you miss me?”

“Of course I do.”

Louis bit his lip, “I don’t know, mate.”

“Of course I miss you, Louis.”

“But not like before.”

“I’m not sixteen anymore.”

“I’m not eighteen but I still look at you the way I did when I was eighteen,” Louis began, “you don’t look at me like that anymore. You don’t.”

“Yes I do.”

“No, Harry, you don’t,” Louis said, as sure as anything, “I found our old twitter cams, and you used to look at me like—” Louis exhaled “like I hung the fucking moon. And I felt like I could do things for you, and be special to you, and it was just us, but now life is complicated, and I feel like there’s not a lot of things I can do for you, and I’m failing.”

Louis laughed again, weakly and brokenly, “I’m fucking failing you.”

Harry watched Louis, and after a moment, said, “It’s always you, Louis. I don’t know what else I can say. It will always be you.”

Louis shrugged, “Ok, H.”

Harry felt desperate, wanted to convince Louis of his love, but didn’t know how. He was lost, they were lost. So he let Louis take his shower, excusing himself from the bathroom.


	4. Chapter 4

“All I’m saying is that if they didn’t play like such fucking absolute shit I would be in a much better mood this morning,” Louis said, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching as Harry, relaxed and still waking up, made scrambled eggs.

“I really thought you were just gonna sleep it off and feel better in the morning,” Harry sighed, clearly sympathetic but also rehearsed—almost as if he had had this conversation with Louis countless times.

He had.

Him and Louis stayed up the night before to watch the match, and, when Louis’s team lost, as it was every time Louis’s team lost, Harry heard a slew of curse words, hurled towards the TV, and then Louis bargained with him, God, his phone, over the final score, until he finally fell asleep, far after Harry did, who watched Louis sitting up in bed on his phone as he himself drifted to sleep.

But Louis was really hung up on it this morning.

“It was just such a fucking disappointment,” Louis said, voice still heavy with sleep. Harry had woken up only a little before Louis, who, before even getting out of bed, mentioned how “fucking disappointed” he was about the loss.

“I’m sorry, love,” Harry said, rubbing his eye and yawning. “When do they play next?”

“Ah, whole season’s fucked after this,” Louis sighed, stretching his arms a bit. “I need a cigarette.”

Louis grabbed his smokes off the kitchen island and headed towards their back patio and cracked the door.

“Jesus fuck it’s cold,” he hissed, feeling the biting London weather. He stepped out, just in a t-shirt and sweats, and lit his cigarette, keeping the door open.

“Hey,” Louis said, trying to get Harry’s attention.

Harry turned, taking the eggs off heat, cheeky smile towards Louis, “You talking to me?”

Louis smiled, his disappointment still obvious, “Yeah, I’m talking to you.” Louis was clearly endeared. “We need to get groceries today.”

“We’re nearly out of everything,” Harry agreed, diverting his attention back to the eggs.

“I’ll start making a list when I come inside,” Louis said, blowing his exhale away from the house.

Harry was good to him—no cigarettes in the house, but as many as he wants outside, and as long as his two feet were outside a door, Harry was fine with it. 

So many days and nights Louis would stand right at the doorway, talking to Harry or listening to Harry play music or watching TV with Harry, while enjoying his company, since the cigarette was hardly worth missing it.

Harry took a bite of eggs, “You should have some of this, it’s good.”

“I will,” Louis nodded, watching Harry eat. He smiled to himself, almost so small no one else would be able to tell.

As Harry ate, and Louis’ thoughts wandered, he began to think again about the match the night before, how devastating it was, and then said, “Maybe football’s just not worth the effort.”

“Why’d you say that?” Harry asked, looking up from his eggs.

“I feel like shit today,” Louis sighed, “and it’s because of a sports game. Football. Football can make me feel like shit.”

Harry shrugged, “It’s not bad to have something you care about.”

“Agh!” Louis sighed, “maybe I just need a new team.”

“You would never,” Harry said, and he was right.

Louis would never.

Louis nodded in silent agreement, and put out his cigarette, finally closing the door to the outside cold. He made himself a plate of eggs and stood next to Harry, beginning to eat.

“You ever get sick of me bitching about the game?” Louis asked, looking at Harry.

Harry shook his head earnestly, looking at Louis, “Never.”

Louis smiled and took Harry’s head gently in his hand, holding his hair softly before gently tussling it, “I would if I were you.”

Harry leaned towards Louis, kissed the side of his head, and then got back to his eggs.


	5. Chapter 5

It had all started out as a joke.

Harry wrote Only Angel all around this joke. Louis joked about this joke at an interview.

And now it had gone too far. Way too far.

Louis was waiting in London for Harry to get home. It was February 1st, 2017. Harry was turning 23, and they hadn’t seen each other in two weeks.

Louis knew he had to.

Nine days ago Harry had sent him a picture of it. The one he liked a lot, along with a message about how it didn’t have to happen, and really he was just kidding, and if Louis didn’t want to he didn’t have to, and either way was fine.

But Louis knew he had to.

It was Harry’s birthday. They hadn’t seen each other in two weeks. If nothing else, it would make Harry laugh. Laugh hard. And that was worth it.

So he had ordered it, it had arrived at the house, sat in the box for a day, sat out of the box for a day, was hung up to let the wrinkles out for a few days, stared down by Louis as he brushed his teeth for the rest. All but tortured the poor lad.

But Harry was going to be home in fifteen minutes, so it was time to make it happen.

Louis undressed in their master bathroom, putting his clothes in the hamper, as he knew would make Harry happy, and stared, naked, at the article.

He had left a little stubble in an attempt to make it less emasculating, but it all felt fruitless now. Harry would love it. He would. Louis had to keep reminding himself.

So Louis put it on, sat down at the edge of the bed, and got on his phone. Kill time. Wait to hear the front door open.

When he got the “almost home” text from Harry, his heart began to beat a little faster. Just enough to realize, not so much that he couldn’t ignore it.

He texted back: “come up to the bedroom when you get home.”

Harry replied swiftly: “couldn’t get home faster.”

Louis heard their security system beep about ten minutes later, interrupted from scrolling through Instagram, and swiftly put his phone down and went to their full-length mirror. 

Ok, he thought. This will be good. It’s not that bad. Harry will love it. And it is his birthday. And there weren’t many people Louis loved more than Harry, despite the rough patch of sorts they were in.

Louis stood, facing the door, waiting for it to open. 

And open it did.

Harry stood in the doorway, his flying look as good as ever, the cheeky smile on his face growing.

“No fucking way,” he said, voice low, almost a whisper.

“Fucking way,” Louis said, motioning with his hands as to say—this is it.

“Jesus Christ,” Harry sighed, smile still beaming, “you look incredible.”

“I hate it,” Louis shook his head, almost laughing.

“I know you do,” Harry laughed, still in the door, taking Louis in. “But, Jesus Christ.”

Louis watched Harry as Harry looked at him, so intently and sweetly but almost ravenously. And surely turned on.

“Could you come here, because I feel incredibly stupid,” Louis said, just a twinge of irritation in his otherwise saccharine tone.

Harry dropped the small bag he was carrying and went to Louis, wrapping his arms around him, “I’m sorry, I just, was overwhelmed.”

Louis returned his embrace, the mere smell of Harry comforting him, and, after a moment, Harry, hands firmly on Louis’ waist, stepped back to look at Louis again.

“This is incredible,” he whispered, “this is the one I sent you.”

Louis nodded, “Yep.”

Harry felt the lace at the hem of the silk robe, the silk lingerie robe, the silk lingerie robe Louis had bought, let the wrinkles fall out of, and put on for him on his 23rd birthday, and smiled impossibly wider.

“Whew,” he laughed, looking at the robe and then in Louis’ eyes, “Shit. I’m hard, love.”

Louis laughed, “Well thank god, that means I can take this thing off.”

Harry nodded, laughing, beginning to untie the robe and slip it off Louis’ shoulders, “Please.”  
With the robe off, Harry pulled Louis to him, kissing him sweetly and softly. After a moment, he took Louis’ member in one hand, and began to sink to his knees.

“Hey,” Louis said softly, “what are you doing?”

Harry looked confused, “I’m gonna give you a wonderful blowjob.”

“It’s your birthday,” Louis said, pulling Harry up, “you get the first blowjob.”

Harry smiled and shrugged, “If you insist.”

Louis kissed him again, and Harry guided them to the bed, where he sat, and Louis began to unlatch his belt. As he did, Harry took off his shirt. Louis guided Harry’s pants and briefs off in one move, and then looked to Harry, “Holy shit, you really are hard.”

“I wasn’t lying,” Harry said, smiling.

“No, you weren’t,” Louis agreed, beginning to make work of the birthday boy.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry woke up to his four am alarm, still completely exhausted from the show the night before, not wanting to leave the hotel room bed.

And then he remembered. He had spent the night in Louis’ room.

He smiled to himself. They had spent the night before last in separate rooms, after finding themselves more irritated more often with each other, and decided that it was just the stress of the tour, the hiatus that was ahead of them, and the tension beneath the pending hiatus that had proved to be stressful, and some time apart would be good.

But Harry had spent the night in Louis’ room, and they had a good day and a good night the day before, and all felt well. The break had served its purpose.

Harry glanced at Louis, the covers brought to his shoulders, back towards Harry, smiled again, and headed to the bathroom.

After the show, as they were walking backstage, Louis had said, almost passingly, to Harry, “You wanna spend the night in my room?”

Harry nodded, “Yeah. You’re not too tired?”

Louis gave Harry a small smile, a smile Harry knew, “No. Are you?”

So Louis waited in Harry’s room as he packed up his bag and carried it for him back to his room, where they talked for a while on the balcony, shared a cigarette, which was rare and delighted Louis, and then fucked for the first time in a week.

It was marvelous, a little rough, and just what both needed.

And then Harry looked in the mirror.

“Holy shit,” he said. His neck was covered in hickies. Nearly smeared in hickies. The left side, the side Louis usually went for for whatever reason, was especially bad.

Harry laughed to himself and thought about the shit he was gonna get. Someone would have to use a shit ton of makeup to cover that up. He washed his face, and as he dried it, he heard some footsteps, and then the bathroom door opened.

“Mornin,” he greeted Louis, who looked even more exhausted, but, even more noticeably, had an even more ridiculous amount of hickies.

“Jesus Christ, what happened to you last night?” Louis joked, smiling tiredly, looking at the hickies.

And then Louis turned and looked in the mirror.

“Holy shit,” he said, touching his neck softly, which was blue and purple and red, and the marks continued down his chest, his tummy, Harry even saw one on the waistband of his boxers.

He looked at Harry, “Are we fucking seventeen again?”

Harry laughed, and Louis let out a chuckle, examining himself more closely in the mirror. “I haven’t had a hicky in a long time.”

“Yeah,” Harry began, “sorry about that.”

Louis took a step back from the mirror and pulled down his waistband. There were more, some trailing towards his crotch, others around the waistband, but many. Many.

Louis laughed, looking at Harry’s reflection, “Well, you’re not much better. I remember some hickies, but not this many.”

“Me neither,” Harry said.

“We are going to get a massive amount of shit for this,” Louis said, laughing. “As we should.”

“When’s the last time you’ve had a hicky?” Harry began to joke, watching as Louis went to the toilet, putting up the toilet seat.

“2011? 2013?” Louis said, beginning to pee. “And this is a whole new level. Did we get out a vacuum?”

Harry laughed, wetting his toothbrush and putting some toothpaste on it. “What got into us?”

“A night apart is what,” Louis told him, flushing the toilet, Harry scooting over so he could wash his hands.

Harry nodded, conceding, toothbrush in his mouth. Louis dried his hands, put a soft hand on Harry’s hip as he walked past him and out of the bathroom.


	7. Chapter 7

“And that really pissed me off,” Louis said, standing in front of Harry, pacing a bit, who was watching him dutifully from the dressing-room couch, “because Liam had been saying all day that he didn’t care about surfing and then talked about how much he wanted to do it during the interview. He said he didn’t care, so why would he start caring right when the cameras were on?”

Harry shook his head, “I don’t know.”

“And he was just being so annoying, in general, just talking over you,” Louis looked at Harry briefly, “talking over Niall. Fuck Liam.”

“You don’t mean it,” Harry said gently, still watching Harry.

“I don’t,” Louis sighed, “but he can be extraordinarily annoying.”

Harry nodded, “Come sit.”

Louis looked at him, his face softened a bit, and then he went to sit next to Harry.

Just being next to him was enough, and they sat together, arms touching, sitting in the comfortable silence.

“Are you nervous about surfing?” Harry asked, gently, watching Louis, trying to center him. He could tell he was upset.

Louis shook his head, smiling a bit, seeming to relax, “Nah. I’m excited.”

Harry nudged him gently, “Are you gonna be good?”

Louis smiled at Harry, in the deeply intimate and infatuated way he did, the way he smiled at him with so much endearment most other people felt like they were invading, violating, if they saw it, the way he couldn’t help but to smile at Harry.

“I’m gonna be bad,” Louis admitted, watching as Harry laughed, “I know I’m gonna be bad.”

Harry shook his head, “I think you’re gonna be good.”

“There’s no way,” Louis protested, “there’s no way. I have shit balance—”

“Your balance isn’t shit,” Harry interrupted, “better than mine.”

“I think you’re going to surprise all of us and be the best one,” Louis told Harry.

Harry shook his head, “No way.”

Louis nodded, “I think you will be.”

Just then the dressing room door opened, a member of their management standing at the door. He sighed when he saw Harry and Louis, and then called down the hall, “I found them, they’re in here.”

Harry thought he recognized the man, he can’t remember from what or where, but had definitely met him.

He looked to Harry and Louis, who had separated from their close positions on the couch, Louis standing while Harry sat apprehensively at the edge of the cushion.

“We didn’t know where you guys were,” he said.

“We’re in our dressing room,” Louis said, his words pointed.

“No, Louis, you’re in Harry’s dressing room,” the man said, “you two don’t share a dressing room.”

“Why does it matter?” Louis asked, seeming frustrated.

The man looked at Louis, almost fed up, and Louis looked at the man.

That’s when Harry realized who is was. It was the management member who had talked to Louis alone when him and Harry had first gotten together. The horrible one, the homophobic one.

“Um,” Harry said, standing up, feeling the anger coming off Louis, “it’s not a big deal, you know, I don’t care if he’s in here, and I want him here, so.”

The man looked at Harry, then to Louis, “You just have to tell us where you are. And, for the love of god, never let anyone see you two like this. There’s all sorts of news outlets and people hanging around everywhere at these things, so, please.”

Harry nodded, and Louis looked at the ground.


	8. Chapter 8

A quarantine Halloween.

Harry was very excited. Him and Louis had been in quarantine together since February, and, in a strange turn of events, the world was put in lockdown around the same time they decided to hide away for a while. They were in Bali for a month or two, and then back home, so they could be in the same country as their families once lockdowns began.

Louis liked Halloween, but Harry loved Halloween, and he was both sad there wasn’t going to be a party that he could show up at in a costume he had tortured himself over, and happy that him and Louis could do something together. They were going to head to Harry’s mum’s for dinner with Lottie and the twins, and then head home. Harry wanted to be home before ten, to leave plenty of time to present his costume.

But he was still going to dress up, that was for sure.

He had been working on the costume for quite a long time, and he had been keeping it a secret from Louis, too. Louis told him that he had also been hard at work at a costume, but while Harry was trying to fit his sewing machine onto the desk in the guest bedroom, which had virtually turned into his sewing room, he could see Louis coming in and out of their music room to their patio, smoking a few cigarettes, reading a little bit, and then sitting at the computer. 

Maybe he was doing research.

When Louis finally descended the stairs Halloween morning, Harry was sitting on the couch on his phone.

Louis smiled, the way he does right after he wakes up, “Hey.”

Harry smiled at him, “Happy Halloween.”

Louis poured some hot water left over in the kettle by Harry into a mug and began searching through the tea drawer. “I’m excited to see that costume,” Louis said, settling on some constant comment and then closing the drawer.

“I finished last night,” Harry said, going back to lazily looking at his phone.

“You like it?” Louis asked.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, glancing at Louis. 

He was standing by the counter as he usually did, drinking his tea, checking his phone. Harry smiled to himself.

“What time do you want to leave for your mum’s?” Louis asked.

“What time are Lottie and the twins getting there?” Harry asked.

“Um, let me check,” Louis said, going to his messages. “Four.”

“Perfect,” Harry said. “Mum has been complaining about some stubborn weeds in her garden, so I want to see if I can help her with that.”

“Wanna leave around twelve thirty then?” Louis asked. 

“Sounds good,” Harry agreed.

“I’ll help you weed,” Louis told Harry.

“Yeah?” Harry asked, turning to Louis.

Louis nodded, “I like your mum’s garden.”

“It’s a good one,” Harry agreed, going back to his phone.

Louis finished his cup of tea, joined Harry briefly on the couch to show him a video he watched on YouTube the night before, and then went upstairs to shower before they left. Harry went up soon after him, changing into the purple sweater he had got for this Halloween gathering and black pants. Louis finished his shower, got dressed, and the two were off, after Louis suggesting Harry bring some clothes he won’t mind gardening in.

Dinner was lovely. Harry and Louis worked in the garden for about an hour before the girls got there, and then Harry’s mum cooked a splendid spread, and Harry and Louis shared a few drinks with Lottie in the living room while Anne took the kids trick-or-treating at a few close neighbor’s houses, masks on, of course.

Harry and Louis were on the road by eight, supplied with many leftovers and a few stolen candy bars.

Once home, Harry headed to the guest room while Louis changed in their bedroom.

Louis was finished with his ensemble much before Harry and sat on the couch on his phone until Harry was ready.

“Ok,” Louis heard Harry call from the top of the stairs, “are you ready?”

“So ready,” Louis replied, standing up.

Harry descended the stairs, in costume as Dr. Frank N Furter from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. He was wearing silver, sparkly gloves up to his elbow, a chunky pearl necklace, and a mid-length green dress, along with heeled boots and a full face of makeup. He held the well-known leather jacket the character wears, adorned with sparkles and buttons.

He practically beamed when he saw Louis.

Louis was dressed as Rocky from said movie, tiny and tight bright gold shorts and gold lace-up sneakers, along with a blonde wig he had specially made for the occasion.

“Oh my god,” Harry said, nearly laughing, “how did you know?”

“I saw it on your phone one night while I was falling asleep,” Louis admitted, smiling.

“I told you not to look at my phone until Halloween,” Harry laughed, walking down the rest of the stairs.

“I didn’t even mean to,” Louis told him. “And I couldn’t resist.”

“I love the blonde,” Harry told him. “And it looks amazingly real.”

“I love the boots,” Louis said, “the necklace is also great.”

“This isn’t it, though,” Harry told him.

“No?” Louis asked, smiling excitedly.

“Oh no,” Harry said, “not even half of it.”

“Don’t make me wait any longer,” Louis warned jokingly.

“Are you ready?” Harry asked.

Louis nodded, smiling.

Harry zipped down the side of the green dress, and carefully stepped out of it, revealing the contents underneath. And—holy shit. 

Louis’ eyes and smiled widened as he took in Harry, with fishnet stockings held up by garters, little black underwear, with a black bustier, as Harry finished the look with the leather jacket.

“Harry,” Louis smiled, “this is incredible.”

Harry did a little twirl, as gracefully as he could in his heeled boots, “You like it?”

“It’s amazing,” Louis told him. “You made all of this?”

Harry shrugged, “I sewed the dress and the gloves, but bought the lingerie. Hard to find my size.”

The two laughed, and Louis said, “You look really good.”

“You too,” Harry looked at Louis. “Really good.”

“The shorts are a bit too tight for me,” Louis told Harry.

“No,” Harry shook his head, “not too tight.”

“I want you to try these on eventually, though,” Louis told Harry, and they laughed.

“I must,” Harry told him, staring at Louis, and his costume, and the wonderfulness of it all. Matching Halloween costumes, coordinated by Louis.

“So what do Halloween night activities include, now that we’re in our costumes?” Louis asked, looking at Harry curiously.

“Oh,” Harry said, eyebrows furrowing, “I was just thinking we have sex and watch a movie.”

Louis nodded, smiling, “Nothing sounds better.”

He walked towards Harry, giving him a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, and the two began up the stairs.

“Is the lingerie comfortable?” Louis asked as they began up the stairs.

“No, not at all,” Harry admitted, smiling, “I can’t wait to take it off.”

“Let me take it off?” Louis asked, smiling while looked at Harry’s get-up.

“That was my plan,” Harry smiled, gently slapping Louis’ bum. "You wanna leave your wig on, though?"

"You really like the blonde, huh?" Louis asked.

Harry nodded, "Quite a lot, actually."


	9. Chapter 9

April 4, 2014.

It’s been hard with L recently. It feels like it’s been hard with L for the past year. Maybe for the past four.

We aren’t ever able to call it off, I just can’t get myself to do it, and neither can he, I think, so we just sit in limbo. We’ll spend a couple nights a week together, sometimes good sometimes bad, but he spends a lot of time with Eleanor, and then we’re working and writing and travelling to promote the album, and it just feels like I never see him. Or get to spend time with him. He’s elusive even when we’re together and E isn’t there. 

But I can’t help but love him.

Even when I’m mad, or frustrated, or pissed off, or upset that this was the hand we were dealt, I still see him the way I saw him first, when we were teenagers, and it’s still there. Even when I start to resent him, I love him more than that.

I can’t blame him for any of it, but recently I’ve been trying to blame someone, and I think that’s where the resentment comes from. I could blame management for fucking us over, or I could blame us for letting them. But I was 16, L was 18. We were taken advantage of, and it’s had repercussions I couldn’t imagine then, sixteen, falling in love in a bunk bed. 

Last night we had plans to share a hotel room together while we’re doing this press tour in America, but Louis had an outing with Eleanor, and didn’t get back until 1 am. I was already sleep. I miss him all the time. I can’t help but take advantage of the time we do get together, which is unfortunately almost always in the public eye, the time I’m explicitly supposed to pretend I don’t miss him, or never did, or had the opportunity to.

Tonight we have a hotel room together. Management acts like it’s the biggest hardship in the world to make a shared hotel room happen. It requires the minimum effort on their part. Virtually no effort. Just get me to L’s room or get L to mine. I go from being depressed about it all to being extraordinarily mad. Right now, I am mad.

I want to have Louis and Louis to have me. Tonight, I wish none of this fame ever happened, that we didn’t make it after X-Factor, that we got to move and settle down outside of London or Doncaster or Worcestershire or fucking anywhere and just have a shot at a normal fucking life.

I think about that a lot. I get consumed in that fantasy almost every day. L and I living in a flat somewhere, we both have nine-to-fives. Maybe we’re both teachers or I work in an office and L is in college. Or maybe we both are, or maybe we’re fucking homeless and living with my mum. But everything else is so clear in my head. We have just as many tattoos, but I can tell my coworkers I live with my boyfriend, and we can go out to dinner together, or go get groceries, or just take a fucking walk. No one recognizes us, no one cares. It’s just me and him.

I know that’s not my life and it’s not his, so this is what we have. I know I will come to regret all of the time we wasted not being together, or fighting, or being with other people, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Nothing. So I can only love him when I have the chance, and deal with the rest.

H.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this chapter is a little different. i hope you guys like it :))))

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading. read the original fic here. https://archiveofourown.org/works/21992308/chapters/52480030 xoxoxo


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